Nightmares Bring Us Closer
by NotFlyingWithOtters
Summary: Sherlock has a nightmare and John comforts him. Ship: Sherlock/John


**I keep seeing all these stories of John having a nightmare and Sherlock comforting because of the whole Army and trauma stuff associated with Jonh's past. However I thought I'd mix it up a bit. Enjoy...**

Sherlock struggled against his bonds, wrists bound behind his back and his mouth gritty with the rough material tied tight around his lips. He raised his head, desperately trying to untie himself and think, but the harsh pain above his left eye was slowing that process. He could hear a desperate mewling sound from behind him and tried to turn, the joints clicking and popping in his arms.

He bit down hard on his gag, swallowing thickly and wishing he could raise a hand to his eyes and brush his hair away. His steely grey eyes scanned the room and tried to pick out shapes from the shadows. The low mewling increased to a permanent whine and he twisted his body until he could see.

The small amount of air in his throat was suddenly stilled as he saw John lying still, blood rolling sluggishly from a head wound. He was the one emitting the mewling and Sherlock felt his heart break slightly. He was able to make a soft sound and it grabbed John's attention. The blonde man lifted himself up on his arms and the blood that had been clotting suddenly ripped and started flowing once again.

John looked at him, and Sherlock felt a jumping sensation in his chest at John's gaze. Neither could speak, both were gagged with rough hessian material that was making them whimper ad making it hard to breathe. Sherlock tried to signal with his eyes.

_I'm sorry..._ John picked up and shook his head hard, a petulant glare on his face. Then there was a snap of a rifle barrel clicking back into place and they both froze, chests stilled as footsteps echoed around them. The unseen assailant did not speak, but a red dot appeared on John's chest.

Sherlock's eyes widened in shock as he realised what was happening. There was a muffled shot and Sherlock felt the familiar dribble of liquid on his forehead and all he could see was blood on the floor.

* * *

><p>John was lying in bed when he heard Sherlock's first muffled scream and then heard it once again after dismissing it as a one off and returning to his book. It seemed full of grief of terror and he gently slipped out of bed and padded down the stairs, careful to skirt the squeaky step; not entirely sure as to why he did. He paused outside Sherlock's door, eyes fixed permanently on it, ears straining to hear Sherlock if he cried out again. He was about to leave when he heard a long and drawn out sob, full of anguish.<p>

'Sherlock?' He knocked gently on the door and received no reply. He pushed to door open and stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the gloom caused by the drapes over the tall windows. He wondered briefly if Sherlock was asleep, seeing as he hardly ever slept, not that he'd seen anyway. He whispered into the room, not expecting a reply.

'Sherlock?' There was no reply and he stepped further inside, clicking to door shut behind him. The room was plunged into darkness and then his eyes adjusted slowly, the grey shapes forming into recognisable objects.

'Sherlock?' He asked, a little more roughly than he would have if he wasn't so worried. There was still a silence. He tiptoed into the room and collided painfully with a mini fridge, wondering with a sinking feeling what human body part he kept in it. Rubbing his toes with one hand he surveyed the room, noting how close he was to the bed and gently reached out a hand. As he did so, Sherlock gave a pained cry and thrashed about on the covers, twisting and writhing as though in agony.

'Sherlock!' John exclaimed, forgetting his inhibitions and placing a hand on Sherlock's swear drenched shoulder. Sherlock shuddered under his touch but was still stuck in the depths of sleep, eyes closed and a terrified expression on his face. John gave his shoulder a painful squeeze and Sherlock's eyes snapped open. The whole room was silent for a moment and then Sherlock reached for John with almost childlike innocence, hands curling into his loose pyjama shirt.

John caught the desperation in Sherlock's grasp and slid onto the bed, holding Sherlock tight as the taller man curled up and clung to his shirt. They sat like that for a while, John holding Sherlock tightly and Sherlock clinging to John in desperation. John took a deep breath in and inhaled a scent that was so perfectly Sherlock and also intoxicating. As he inhaled, Sherlock's curls tickled his nose and chin, but far from annoying, he found it pleasurable.

'Sherlock?' He ventured, shifting his position slightly and turning Sherlock so that he could see his face.

'Did I wake you?' Sherlock's voice was as mild as ever, but his eyes betrayed him, the grey watered down by the tears that had made tracks across his face.

'I was already awake. I heard you call...' He trailed off; internally debating as to whether to tell Sherlock he'd been calling his name.

'I can tell, through the silence, that I was calling your name.' Sherlock sighed, as though reading John's mind.

'Yes... You... You did.' John stammered, realising how close to Sherlock he was, he could feel the other man's heartbeat beneath his palms and the shallow rise and fall of his thin chest.

'I apologise.' Sherlock sighed, his hand falling from John's shirt and back onto the covers.

'It's okay. I was awake anyway.' He was suddenly aware of a sharp, shooting pain in his shoulder and winced.

'Your shoulder.' Sherlock stated, his voice still full of sleep.

'It's nothing.' John mumbled, letting go of Sherlock to rub it gently, kneading the muscles. Sherlock slid off of John's lap, gently moving behind him and massaging the taut, knotted flesh. John whimpered, the pain obviously increasing.

'Just relax. I'm sorry. It hurts I know. But just relax, John. I know it will feel better, just trust me.' John tried to relax his screaming muscles, his mind working as he wondered where he and Sherlock had switched places. The pain gradually dissipated and Sherlock moved away from John's shoulders, sitting cross legged on the covers and studying his nails.

'Are you okay, Sherlock?' John touched Sherlock's arm gently and then left his hand there.

'I am perfectly fine, John. Fine.' Sherlock's face was set in neutral, but the tremor in his hand betrayed him.

'No you aren't.'

'Why are you worrying? I am fine.'

'I'm an ex-combat medic Sherlock, I know when people are lying to me.'

'I'm not.' There was a silence louder than John had ever heard.

'That... Nightmare. What was it about?' John asked neutrally, his eyes darting over Sherlock's face.

'I lost you.' Sherlock breathed, almost inaudibly and John felt a shudder run up his back.

'I'm right here. I'm not going to go anywhere.'

'You got killed.' Sherlock continued, almost to himself. 'Killed and I couldn't help. I couldn't stop it happening.'

'I'm here.' John whispered, touching Sherlock's face with his hands and pulling it around so that the grey eyes could see him. 'I'm right here. Going nowhere.' Sherlock smiled.

'Here.' He echoed, sounding distant and tired again.

'Right here. With you.' Sherlock smiled dreamily and as though he made a decision, he leant forward and placed a gentle and tender kiss on John's lips. John sat stock still, eyes widening with shock.

'Sh-Sh-Sherlock?' He stuttered, the words refusing to come from his mouth.

'Sorry.' Sherlock sighed and rocked back on his heels, wiping a hand over his still red and puffy face. John touched his hand again, exerting a slight pressure so that Sherlock looked up, eyes seeking out John's.

'Don't be.' He whispered softly, the words catching in his throat. 'Don't be sorry.' Sherlock and John's eyes locked and then Sherlock gently reached out a trembling hand

'Are you really here?' He whispered, his hand cupping John's face.

'Really.' John pulled down the grey sleep shirt he was wearing and adjusted the waistband of his pyjama shorts. Sherlock smiled, though his eyes were brimming again.

'Come here.' It seemed to be a command but at the same time a gentle plea. John obliged, shuffling up the bed and taking Sherlock's cold hand from his face to it hold in his own warm one. Sherlock gently kissed John again, the feeling of their hands together sending his heart into spasms and making him shiver.

'I'm here, Sherlock. I promise you I'm going nowhere.' Their lips touched briefly again, this time Sherlock managed to lose his hand in John's hair and pulled the other man closer with the other. They lost all inhibitions and awkwardness, simply joining with each other. John slipped a hand into Sherlock's tight curls, and cupped his pale and still damp cheek with the other.

'I'm glad I woke you.' Sherlock whispered, eyes shining bright with unshed tears. John smiled gently and gingerly stroked Sherlock's palm, fingers tickling the sensitive skin.

'So am I.' He gingerly put his arms around Sherlock and pulled him against the covers. He gently kissed Sherlock's tight curls and watched the thin chest rise and fall as Sherlock fell into a deep sleep; but as he did so he muttered something.

'No more nightmares when I'm with you John.' The sleepy whisper travelled into John's ears and he felt his heart skip.

'I'm always here. I promise.' John murmured into the tight whorl of Sherlock's ear. 'Always.'

**Hai. Tell me if you liked/didn't like it ^^**


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